


Subways Are Liminal Spaces

by DianaSolaris



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Galra Keith (Voltron), Homelessness, M/M, Punk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 16:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14793582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DianaSolaris/pseuds/DianaSolaris
Summary: Lotor Sachdeva was not given over to altruism on the best of days, and today was a very far cry from the best of days. But he really was just trying to check if the homeless kid was okay.Things went a bit wacky from there.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GalacticDavey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalacticDavey/gifts).



1

 

                Lotor Sachdeva was not particularly given over to altruism on the _best_ of days. Today, he was debating the merits of sadism. Not only was he suffering the consequences of having finally pissed off his father enough to lose access to his bank accounts –

                -today, _today,_ of all days, he had finally maxed out his credit card. It’d been a month, to be fair, and he had actually tried to be better about money.

                But now he was stuck on the subway. The dirty, smelly, ‘way too many people have been in here’, subway. Because there was no other way for him to get home to the boroughs from downtown in the middle of the night.

                Capitalism really _was_ a terrible beast. He made up his mind to write more songs about it when he got home. Not that he had anybody to play with, but there wasn’t nearly so much joy to being a rebellious 20-something if you didn’t at least attempt to write bitter angry music about it.

                To bring it back to the _point_ of why he was quietly plotting murder on the subway, though –

                -he’d taken a car that was mostly empty, only to find a homeless person stinking of cigarettes sprawled over a bunch of the seats. Asleep.

                On. The. Subway.

                “Really?” he muttered. He sat down. It was going to be a long ride.

                …

                All the same, if he was going to rant about capitalism…

                Lotor sighed, trying to ignore the very real possibility that if he didn’t learn how to work like a normal person, the gap between him and Mister Hobo was going to get very small, very quickly.

                “Hey,” he said brusquely. There was no response. “Helloooo. Hi. Hey. You.”

                Still no response.

                Lotor got to his feet, brushing a bit of dust from his boots off of his leather pants, and walked across the subway car. He jammed his hands into his pockets, leaning over the prone form, and paused for a moment. He hadn’t noticed until he got close, but the hobo wasn’t… well, _old._ He always thought of homeless people as being old or at least middle-aged, for some reason.

                But the person in front of him was _young._ Teenager-young.

                Well, that was beside the point.

                Lotor jabbed the homeless kid in the ribs with a finger. “Hey, wake up.”

                The kid’s eyes sprang open, and Lotor blinked in surprise. They were purple. He’d never seen anybody else with purple eyes –

                -and then _something_ wrapped around his neck.

                “ACK!” He grabbed at it, but his hands met something soft and warm, and he stared down in horror at the prehensile… _thing_ emerging from the bottom of the flannel shirt wrapped around the boy’s hips.

                The homeless boy sat up with a groan. “…I was _sleeping._ ” Then he opened his eyes properly, and saw the thing around Lotor’s neck. “Shit.” It loosened, and snuck back under his raggedy bundle of clothes.

                He and Lotor stared at each other for a moment, and Lotor could feel the homeless boy’s gaze dip down to the crescents under his eyes – _tattoos,_ came the usual excuse knocking at the back of his throat – and then lower still, taking his measure.

                The subway came to a halt. The doors slid open. And before Lotor could do more than say “Hey, wait-“ the homeless boy had sprung into movement and vanished.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

2

 

                It didn’t matter how much money you had, Lotor reflected – different was different, and even if he’d gotten used to it, today had made everything _weird_ again.

                He stood in front of the mirror, frowning at the marks on his body. He’d gotten away with calling them tattoos for _years,_ ever since he’d started getting naked with people. But they curved in such graceful patterns over his body. Sometimes he even thought, maybe, they glowed a bit.

                He poked at the one on his ribcage, its twin on the other side of his body. Between that, the fact that he could see in the dark, and the canines that were _just_ a little too sharp –

                It’d never been the kind of thing he worried about.

                But now, he’d been half-asphyxiated by a boy with a _tail._ Which, in his books, was license to worry.

                He considered calling Acxa – but that wouldn’t work. She was at her night job as a bouncer. Ezor – Ezor would probably be with another one-night stand that she’d pick the pocket of in the morning. He’d call Zethrid when he needed to beat the shit out of somebody and needed help, but she was more than faintly useless otherwise. And Narti…

                He _could_ text Narti. He just hadn’t figured out how to talk to her again yet. There were only so many ways he could think to phrase “I’m sorry I broke up with you cause I’m gay and too chicken to tell you.” Girls _were_ pretty. Just, unfortunately, much in the same way that the paintings in the Louvre were pretty. Look, don’t touch.

                So that left him with fewer options. He could bribe a police officer into showing him the footage from the subway –

                With the -20 balance in his debit account.

                Right.

                He could offer a cash pri-

                Also no good.

                Lotor flopped onto his bed, glaring at the Joy Division poster on the ceiling like Ian Curtis himself might give him some useful advice. What _would_ Ian Curtis do?

                …Get high, probably. Well, Lotor didn’t have any weed, but he had a cigarette that needed smoking. He plucked it from the pocket of his leather jacket, pulled his hair back and jerked open the window with one hand while scouring his back pocket for a lighter.

                His window opened directly onto the street, and in the middle of the night, the amber streetlights poured their viscous illumination down onto the pavement in undisturbed peace. There were a few stragglers here and there, but here in the boroughs, there were few people out and about. So Lotor lit his cigarette, not thinking about it –

                -and when he looked up again, there were eyes staring up at him, glowing faintly purple in the dark.

                He almost dropped his smoke. Almost being the operative word. “H-hello.” As his eyes adjusted, he could make out the features around the eyes. A sharp chin, thick black hair framing sallow cheeks –

                Of _course_ it was the boy from earlier. He wasn’t surprised. Well, he was a _bit._ But it was rather a relief to know there weren’t that many people with purple eyes in the world.

                The glow was a surprise.

                The boy took a step closer to the window. “Your face.”

                “…Yes?”

                “What’s wrong with it?”

                “Wow. Followed me from the subway to insult me?”

                “You _know_ what I mean.”

                Lotor brushed at the crescents under his eyes with a chuckle. He did. “That’s rich coming from the kid with a tail.”

                “It’s not a tail.”

                “What is it?”

                “Something that isn’t a tail.”

                Lotor paused, then leaned his arms on the window, leaning down to stare at the boy. “…What’s your name?”

                The boy blinked, then broke eye contact. It was too dark to be _sure_ if he was blushing, but – “Keith.”

                “Keith. You look hungry.”

                “What’s it matter to you?”

                “I have no money. At all. But I _do_ have food. Lots of it. And I apparently make an amazing plate of nachos.”

                Keith’s stomach rumbled audibly, and he put a hand on his stomach, scowling. “I don’t even know who you are. Aside from an asshole to people trying to sleep.”

                “I was making sure you didn’t miss your stop.”

                “Uh huh.”

                “I’m Lotor.”

                “That’s a weird name.”

                “I’m letting that one pass. And as far as my face…” He shrugged. “I was wondering if you’d tell me.”

                Keith nodded slowly. “…Okay. Alright.” Beat. “And the five piercings in your ears are-“

                “Counter-culture. I blame Siouxsie Sioux.”

                “…If I pretend to know who that is, do I still get food?”

                “Absolutely.”

                Lotor would figure out the money stuff tomorrow. He’d get a job – like, a real person job, with wages and hours and co-workers and stuff.

                Tonight, he had a guest to entertain.

                “Can I take off my hat?” Keith mumbled, toying at the edges of his beanie.

                Lotor shrugged, turning his back for a second. Then when he turned back –

                “Oh.”

                Keith scowled, and jammed the beanie back on before Lotor could get more than an eyeful of the catlike ears sprouting from underneath his hair. “No staring.”

                “Uh –“

                He couldn’t promise that. Mostly because he couldn’t stop wondering if the fur on Keith’s ears was as soft as it looked.

                …

                He was screwed.  


End file.
